


To Feel That We Exist

by raincallsx



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M, Introspection, Post-regeneration, Regeneration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:33:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26505205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raincallsx/pseuds/raincallsx
Summary: “Sometimes she wondered how The Doctor had done it eleven times now. Eleven regenerations, twelve faces. She wondered if the pain got to be less noticeable after so many occurrences. She wondered many things about the man she called her husband.“Regeneration always hurts, though it affects everyone differently, River has no fond memories of it
Relationships: Eleventh Doctor/River Song
Kudos: 16





	To Feel That We Exist

_“The great art of life is sensation. To feel that we exist- even in pain.” -Lord Byron_

  
“What is it like?”

The question reverberated through Rivers' skull time and time again. Always asked by someone curious and oh so ignorant to beings like herself. People who lived one life with one face in a short span of eighty years and change on average- at least, average for Earth time according to her parents). The question asked with a pressing sense of discomfort that she never truly escaped. In the immediate aftermath, she never noticed the pain, both times being much too high off regeneration energy to dwell on the thought.

She would dwell on it later on, on the lonely nights that seemed never ending both in length and in occurrence. Thoughts always liked to dance around her head with an ambling sort of speed, and no will to leave her be long enough for her to finally fall asleep. She always tried to work herself to the point where the sensation of her head hitting the soft pillows of her bed put her out almost immediately.

She never answered the question when anyone asked. If she did, it was usually a half shrug and some lie that she had calculated would satisfy them. Some got murmurings of pain, whilst others got a side comment about it feeling like nothing at all.

Sometimes she wondered how The Doctor had done it eleven times now. Eleven regenerations, twelve faces. She wondered if the pain got to be less noticeable after so many went at it. She wondered many things about the man she called her husband.

Curled up in bed, alone, she would let the memories drift by her eyelids like driftwood on the tide. Aware of how the satin sheets moved against her skin as she shifted and breathed, how the fan spinning overhead send cool air brushing over her exposed skin which sent the few stray curls of golden hair around her face moving about, and how empty the king sized bed felt without him to share it with, River pondered it all. 

Simple answer: it ℎ𝑢𝑟𝑡.

Not so simple answer: It hit her in waves, every time. Each wave brought a different sort of pain. Awful and unyielding to anything, persistent in its will to carry on her life. 

At the start of it all, it felt like pent up energy- like air before a thunderstorm, static electricity racing and building isolated around her body. It would soon move to a strange story of pulsating of energy from the source of the wound, out to the farthest reaches of her body. Then, it felt like bubbling. A sort of unyielding effervescence of regeneration energy under her skin hat made her want to curl her fingers and toes into balls and wiggle out of her skin until she was free of it; she would always groan in pain at this stage, stifled and through a jaw clenched so tightly it was a miracle her mouth ever opened again. 

Waves of fire through her veins were next- as if molten gold were rushing through her body after Midas had placed his hand over her hearts. Pain so overwhelming it began to numb in some twisted way. The end was always the worst. Every single cell in her body died, and it was if she felt every one of the trillions of cells go one by one. It was a sensation she struggled to put to words. It was as if you threw gasoline on a grease fire, absolutely searing, terrible, and otherworldly in pain. Energy would surround her, bursting out of her body as it couldn't hold in any of the pain anymore.

She would sigh, then, and turn over, making her body relax into the soft mattress beneath her. Sometimes she thanked whatever god or gods there were that she had given the rest of her regeneration energy up. Other days, she hated the universe for it. One lifetime with the Doctor hardly seemed fair (even if it was extended). Then again, how was it a lifetime with him when he was barely ever around like she needed him to be? She ignored the empty space beside her as best she could.

She never liked to dwell on things, but in the end she was only human (well, partly human). River couldn't help but think about it all some nights. She supposed it was only natural, even if the thought of it gave her shivers. Not many things were capable of that- giving big bad River Song the shivers, but regeneration could.

These thoughts passed her mind many times, and if she were lucky enough she would feel the mattress sink down in the empty space behind her. That would make a little smile tug at her lips. It gave her the illusion that, for however short the night may be, he would stay with her because maybe somewhere deep down he really loved her back. She would turn over if just to draw him in closer and to hide her face in his shoulder. His arms would wrap around her, and that would let a sort of comfort fall over her for a short while. 

It never took too long for her mind to begin to wander again, though. She would think of him and how he had little time left. She had seen nearly every one of his faces, all increasingly different, and yet she felt that there was never enough time with him. Never enough time with the man that had married her, and now, she knew that this was to be his last face. That was even less time than she had hoped for. It was selfish for her to want him to be alive if only to please her, but nobody ever said she wasn't. 

There, in the Doctor’s arms, she could drift to sleep a bit more easily. He never gave her too much time to think. Whether it be soft presses of lips against her skin with the ghost of breath and soft laughs echoing behind them, or his delicate questions that presented the question non threatening, but ever curious, he kept her well distracted until she was tired enough to fall asleep in his arms. Most days with him, she dreamed, and they provided as soft a cushion as the bed beneath her did. For a short while, she could fly away from her problems, live happily in her own head. 

And, lord, did she soar.


End file.
